Cringe
by Ich liebe Tod
Summary: An aspiring collection of short stories featuring the three Bakuras: Ryou, Yami and Theif King. Rated T because although there is not much right now, I expect it will get worse in the future. Most are during the Memory arc, so contains spoilers.
1. Crack

I hear tell that disclaimers are the norm in these parts, so I suppose I should have one too. This shall apply to all of my stories in this particular collection: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh or any of its characters. They belong to Kazuki Takahashi. Not me. I don't want them.

All right, this is my first attempt at fanfiction in many years, so don't expect too much. It has the rating it's been given because future stories may end up more…kid unfriendly, I guess

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Crack

Stretching as far as the eye could see and beyond, was nothing. All that existed was what can only be described as a lack of something else: silence, the lack of sound; still, the lack of movement; cold, the lack of heat. Everything, which was all nothing, was as what is dead. There were only two things actually there. One was the absolute black. It was not a lack of color, but rather a consumption of all light by…well, darkness. This darkness was everywhere, expanding and contracting, creeping around and invading every space. It was one and the same as this nothing, and describing it as something seemed inaccurate, but…

Perhaps it was separate from the void. It was difficult to tell, because it was all that he could perceive in his current position.

No, he had been wrong. Now that he had been there for a substantial amount of time, his senses were functioning properly once again, and his thoughts were clearer and less muddled. Everything he saw, everything he heard, smelled, tasted, was negative. It was not nothing, it was _less_ than nothing.

Of course to him this made absolutely no sense. All of his life he had been among what was present, what was _there_, but somehow he was now among what was not there, what was less than non-existent – what no human could possibly comprehend or experience. He was solid, he was matter, but all around him was his exact opposite, something he had never guessed or even considered possible. It was less, it was less, it was LESS—

For a moment he felt like his brain was going to crack.

But after a minute or two he was able to force these thoughts out of his mind. For the time being he would work under the assumption that this negativeness existed in the same sense that he did. All of his senses, except for one, told him the same thing, which was that he was completely surrounded by this negative and that it was all that was present. The exception was his nervous system. He felt a distinct difference between the air (it wasn't really air, but what else could he call it?) against his left shin and the corresponding thigh. On his upper leg he felt the previously described lack: stillness, coldness. His lower leg, on the other hand, felt absolutely nothing. There was no determinable—wait, no. It was not so much that he felt nothing, but more that he did not feel anything. For all he could tell without looking, his entire leg below the knee had been swallowed up and erased from existence. He reached out his hand and grabbed his ankle; the effect of this action was not what he expected. Since the same empty nothingness that had engulfed his lower leg had taken his hand as well, he thought that maybe it meant they were gone. But his palm landed on his ankle and his fingers closed around it as if he were doing it anywhere. His hand felt the normal warmth of his leg; his leg felt the warmth of his hand.

Did this mean…he didn't know what this meant.

Maybe…it meant that he was separate from the nothing after all?

It was impossible to understand. What he had been describing as the "nothing" and the "negative" were thin—that is, non-things that he had never encountered before, and he knew not what to think. His dismissed thoughts were returning more aggressively than when they had first appeared, and they spread through his mind like a searing oil, threatening to burn a hole in his brain. Not only was there _less_ than nothing, but there was _nothing_ in the same place. And he wasn't part of either of them; he was still more than nothing, like he had always been. He wanted to compare it to something, but he soon realized that he couldn't remember anything behind when he opened his eyes and saw the black he was still seeing.

He was absolutely sure he had been conscious before, that he had been somewhere else, but he saw no images of where he had been, or even anywhere he had not been. He didn't know, or at least couldn't recall, what anything looked like, so he couldn't imagine what anything _could_ look like. All he remembered was having memories…but something was blocking his access to them, stopping him from seeing them. The black was the only thing there; it was all he could picture in his mind's eye, aside from one certain image that had escaped from captivity and was now dancing around in his head, distracting him from the overwhelming darkness.

The image was a very non-specific, very generic picture of a desert, sand shifting silently with the wind. There was nothing but sand except for the sky, sun included, and the invisible yet obvious wind. He had no idea what to make of this, but the instant he saw it he felt a strange fondness for it, and it calmed him down a little. It was recognizable to him. He held onto this image, for it was all he could see besides the black, which was not at all inviting. This was something reasonable, something normal, something _normal_, because it was more, just like _he_ was, it was MORE—

Another wave pulsed through his brain, but this one was not from his mind, not his own thoughts, no…this time it was something completely separate from him. It crept through and filled every available space, seeping like a viscous fluid and chilling his entire body from head to toe, as if trying to get his attention. Instinctively he grabbed his arms with the opposite hands so as to cross his chest, protecting it from the cold. But it did absolutely nothing; the cold was inside of him. Whatever had entered his head had drained him of all internal body heat. It also scared the living crap out of him; he was paralyzed with fear, although even if he wasn't afraid he doubted he would be able to move anyway. Things became so quiet that he could hear the silence, ringing in a ghastly, piercing tone from inside of his ears.

As he knelt there locked in position amid the silence, the stillness, the coldness, the nameless force somehow began to communicate with him. Although it did not really use a spoken language, he could understand it. This force talked to him by entering his thoughts, sending messages in a sort of telepathic manner. He still felt its voice though, as if it were chewing on his insides, and he trembled as it spoke.

_How did you get here?_

…

_Can you speak?_

…I…Iaghc…

_Have you forgotten how?_

_Or are you just petrified with fear?_

_Ah, well, it matters not. It just makes this easier._

Hceh…

_Hush. I'm only here to help you…if you are willing to do the same for me._

_H-heh heh, don't worry, please. What you want is much more important and will be given priority. You want revenge for what was done to your family. You will get it._

As the voice spoke, every last feeling of life, of existence, of solidity, of every feeling that he identified with being positive, being more than nothing, was completely depleted. The voice pulled everything out until he was nothing, and then continued pulling until he was less than nothing, like it was. He was still unable to move; as a result he was forced to ignore his urge to crumple into a ball and scream in pain. Pain caused by the biting cold. Pain from being torn apart. Pain from the confusion and anxiety that he had felt ever since he arrived in this…this _place_. Pain from being forcibly made part of the negative, being SWALLOWED…

H-heh heh heh… 

Ahh…

_I hope you're comfortable sitting like that, because you're going to be there for quite a long time._

What-

I'm sorry, is it hurting you? Try to just accept it, it won't be as bad that way. 

WHAT'S HAPPENING?!

But the voice did not answer, it only cackled. It laughed a hollow, evil laugh that bounced around in his ears and in his HEAD and IN HIS—

_Crack_.


	2. Mine

Hey, boys and girls! I'm back, here to deliver another segment of Cringe. To see my disclaimer, go to chapter 1, because that is where it lives. Um, if you wouldn't mind, maybe you'd like to leave a review…they're always helpful. If you have any questions regarding this or any other chapter, just ask. I'd love to answer. Most likely I'll put the answer on my profile. Anyway, please enjoy story number two.

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Mine: The Literally Nameless Spirit Defines Himself

This boy belongs to me.

Seeing as I'm only part of Zorc, I am separate from him. Only part of him. I'm practically a being. Yes, that's what I am. I'm a spirit that was created using a piece of Zorc's person. So I am him, and at the same time I am someone else. Heh, I can live with that.

And then there's this boy. He is the one chosen to bear the Millennium Ring, what contains me. I am a part of him in a different way that I am a part of Zorc; we share the same body, the same mind…not the same soul. He is my host.

But it isn't just that. This boy is my property; he has been for three thousand years. Because I acquired ownership of him in a life before this one. That moron thought he was strong enough to contain me, but that priest was really the only human capable of _actually_ keeping me at bay. The only reason he could defeat the priest the first time was because he was smarter. But anyway, the reason he was meant to hold the Ring is because he belongs to the spirit inside it. Me. Mine.

This boy…

This boy who keeps _defying_ me, when _he himself_ chose to be my slave. I guess the first few times can be forgiven, because how could he remember something that happened before he was born? I'm not even sure if he was aware of it the first time. But even without those memories, he must have learned by now that he is my property, and must obey my every command whether he wants to or not. Why doesn't he get it?

It can't be because he's stupid, because he isn't. Maybe a bit stubborn at times, but definitely not stupid.

Actually it's quite possible that all these years have lowered his intelligence. His personality did undergo some minor changes, after all. But that also could be due to the environment he grew up in. It's very different from last time.

Whatever the case, I own him.

And I really wish his stupid friends would stop calling me _his_.

Yes, usually call me the spirit of the Ring, but I'll hear the occasional "Bakura's darkness" or "Bakura's other half." Referring to me as if I only exist because _he_ does! Yami Bakura? Ha! I'm a product of Zorc, not this pathetic _human_.

Although up until recently I did think I was.

That is, I didn't realize Zorc was my creator. Well, I knew, I just didn't quite understand what I was.

I knew what I was, I just didn't know what I was doing.

No, I knew what I was doing. Just didn't know why.

Maybe they're right. I mean, I was created to manipulate this boy; I can't function without the use of his body; maybe I really am his "darkness." Maybe I am his. But that can't be true, because at the same time he is doing what I make him. And I am doing what Zorc makes me.

So I am simultaneously the servant and the master of this boy. More so the master, barely the servant. I am him, I am myself, and I am Zorc. That works for me.

Back to my original point, Bakura, be it his given name or his surname, is mine. And no matter how hard he or his loved ones try, it will always be this way.

I am the fucking darkness.


	3. Just Ignore It

Hello, my faithful readers. Actually I'm very doubtful that there are that many faithful readers, because I'm pessimistic when it comes to things I put on the internet…so I don't think I'm talking to that many people. But before I begin I would like to thank the few people who put Cringe on their alert lists and the even fewer people who reviewed. It is greatly appreciated.

Anyway, here is the third installment of Cringe. For a disclaimer, view chapter 1. Eventually I will stop reminding you about that, because I can't think of any reason why someone would jump to the last page before even glancing at the first, unless they've already read the rest. It defies all common sense. I'm sorry, am I blathering on about nothing? I'm sorry.

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Just Ignore It

The boy closed his bedroom door behind him and collapsed onto his bed. He inhaled deeply and stretched out his arms, then let go a heavy sigh and closed his eyes. After a few seconds he opened them again and smiled. He pulled himself up with his arms and sat cross-legged on his mattress, admiring the golden pendant he held in his hands.

It was a shining gold ring, the diameter being about the same as the length of his hand. In the center was an equilateral triangle, with three holes in the middle that worked together with three embossed curved lines to portray an eye. The triangle connected to he ring on each vertex. On the bottom half, there were attached five cone-shaped appendages hanging loosely and evenly spaced apart in a semi-circle. On the top there was a relatively thick cord that turned the pendant into a necklace.

He sat there staring at the ring, his eyes wide and his lips slightly parted in his smile. After what in reality was about forty seconds but seemed like five minutes, he exhaled loudly and put the ring down on his bed. He swung his legs out over the edge of his bed and jumped up onto his feet. He reached over his shoulders and grabbed his sweater, pulled it over his head and peered at it questioningly as he held it in front of him by the elbows. It was covered in some kind of lint and long purplish-white hairs, and had dirt caked in a shapeless blot near the bottom. He frowned slightly and tossed the sweater into a plastic hamper near his closet.

The boy then walked towards the door and closed his hand around the doorknob. He paused for a second, then let go and went back to his bed. He grabbed the cord of his pendant and put his head through the loop. He pulled his hair out from under the cord, and it settled on the back of his neck, just above his collar. The pendant remained visible against the white fabric of his shirt, hanging spikes clinking lightly as they hit each other. Then he went back to the door and pulled it open. The floorboards creaked under his feet as he walked down the hallway.

* * *

A minute or so later he had reached the bottom of the stairs and was headed towards the living room, which he knew the rest of his family was in. There were two entrances to the living room; one near the front door and one near the staircase. Seeing as he was coming from the stairs, logically the entrance accessible to him would be the latter. This happened to be the one guarded by a door, though, and the door was closed. The boy did not seem to notice this fact, because he walked face-first into the door and fell backwards onto the floor.

Just as he stood up, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one hand, the door was opened. The boy looked up at the face of the man who had opened the door. "Hi, Dad," he said, smiling embarrassedly. The man's concerned look was replaced by a relieved one; his new facial expression was accompanied by an equally alleviated laugh. They both walked into the living room and sat down on the sofa.

"Where're mom and Amane?" asked the boy, noticing the lack of life in the room, aside from him and his father.

"You're mom went to the bathroom, I'm not sure where Amane is. They'll be back soon, probably."

"Do you think that-" he began to say, but was cut off by a sudden shiver he felt crawl up his spine. It wasn't especially violent, but it was enough for him to physically react, and his entire body shook for a split second.

"Are you okay?" his father asked. "Ryou?"

The boy, having already though of a suspect for the cause of this event, felt around his neck and grabbed the cord of his necklace. He pulled the pendant out from under his shirt and brushed its eye with the tips of his fingers. It was cold to the touch; colder than it should have been. Without looking up, he answered his father's question with a slightly doubtful voice.

"Yes, I guess the metal was cold and I just didn't notice it until now. Strange. What was I just about to say?"


End file.
